


Ain't At Home (Home's Where I'm Going)

by callunavulgari



Category: Horizon: Zero Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Biting, Comfort Sex, F/F, F/M, First Time, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Tender Sex, Violent Thoughts, Woman on Top, before the battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-09 00:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10399242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callunavulgari/pseuds/callunavulgari
Summary: “Not all comforts are bad,” Vala whispers, and Aloy shudders apart.Or: Five people that Aloy sleeps with along the way.





	1. Vala

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure that I wasn't alone in wanting Aloy with practically every single person that I stumbled across through the game, so the night that I beat it I sat down and wrote through the first four chapters of this in one go. Each chapter will be a different character and I will post the chapters relatively close together since half of them are already written. Probably once every week. They will all be explicit. Some will be shorter than others. The pairings tagged are the ones that will be featured in the fic and the warnings will be added as I post each chapter, with an additional author's note detailing which ones belong with which chapter/character. (Though I think Nil will be the only one that really _needs_ a warning.)
> 
> And lastly, the title is from [Kings by Tribe Society](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-wOUbN0-COE&index=1&list=PLyMisL9M_4vcsyf0boZ2460vsGDzbTKdV), which is a perfectly Aloy song.

The Proving had been all that Vala had thought of for weeks. Months. Years, even. Her mother had trained them early, making sure that she and Varl would be ready when the time came. Slowly, meticulously, she and her brother had set about mastering basic tasks - running, jumping, evading. They had agreed that first they would master speed and only then would they move onto the rest. They had raced each other through the streets of Mother's Heart, leaping over food carts and startling their vendors, zig-zagging around madly honking geese. If they could manage it, they would sneak out of town itself and make a game of stalking lazily grazing striders, venturing closer and closer, just to see how close they would have to get before one would notice. The game continued well into their escape, with extra points awarded if they could manage to escape without further detection. More often than not, running saved them. 

They were verging on adolescence before mother agreed to train them to fight. They strung bows and notched arrows until their fingers bled and blistered, sparred until their chests were heaving, muscles tight and aching. The game changed to hunting the striders instead of evading them, first taking them down silent and swift with bow and arrow and then moving in closer, learning how to be quick, how to roll free of their frenzied kicking and get a spear thrust up into their sparking guts. 

It was simple chance that had Varl attending his proving without her at his side, a sickness that grew until she was fevered and thrashing in the night. 

Varl told her later that he hadn't wanted to do it without her. He would wait until the next one with her and they would become braves together. 

Mother had insisted otherwise, so Varl became a brave first, while Vala lay convulsing in a pile of furs. 

She trained harder after that, waiting.

Vala knew her strengths and weaknesses. She walked upright, head tall, and watched her kin as they trained, noting their faults in turn. She was more skilled than they were. More skilled than all of them, save one. Bast was fair-haired and cocky, a smirk ever present on his lips, surrounded by a small group of guffawing age-mates, boys who thought themselves better for simply standing next to him. She would catch his eye at times and see the realization there, relish in the comfort that he knew that she was his competition. That he'd taken her measure and was intimidated.  It would come down to them in the end. She knew it like she knew the rush of air before a watcher flung itself at you.

She hadn't prepared herself for the possibility of another. At the lighting of the lanterns she'd been distracted, breathing in the chill winter air and steeling her mind for what was to come. Vala was used to tuning out the distractions of her surroundings, so she'd nearly missed it when the outcast had shown herself. The girl was a shadow in her periphery, an unexpected figure that she spared a short glance and nothing more. Only after the lanterns were lit and borne aloft did Vala think to take her measure.

The girl was lean, well-muscled with sturdy thighs and powerful shoulders. Her hair a shock of color, startlingly red in the haze of lamp-lit twilight. Vala watched her for a time, tracking the way that she moved through the camp like a wary beast. Vala's experience with machines had mostly been watchers and striders, the odd scrapper, but near the end of her training Varl had snuck her to the very edges of the embrace, where she'd looked down from the gate to see a sawtooth. She'd seen how it moved, slinking through the grass with a predatory grace despite the size of it. This girl moved like that, watching the people around her as if she expected an attack and was trying to decide whether to hunt or evade.

It wouldn't come down to her and Bast, she knows now. This would be their true challenge - this outcast with her loud, accusing stare - eyes that dared the whole of the embrace to judge her and find her wanting. Vala could see it, how easily Aloy would prove them all wrong.

Vala liked that about her, a throb of curiosity at her core, so she continued to watch throughout the feast. Aloy didn't drink, staying away from the hotter fires and the men and women who clustered around them, drawn like a moth to a flame. Vala could respect that. It was only the truly arrogant of them who drank before the proving. Often they were the ones to come in last, dehydrated and too disoriented from the drink when it came to the trials, lagging behind the rest of the bunch. As Vala watched, Aloy picked apart some meat with deft fingers, bringing each morsel quickly to her mouth. Her eyes ever-roaming, for all that she displayed that easy confidence, she was clearly uncomfortable, shifting and wincing at every shrieked laugh or vexed shout. Throughout the whole of the feast, the only person she spoke to was Teb, her body held tight and tense despite his sweetness - as if simple small talk was a battle. For her, maybe it was.

Aloy, if the rumors were to be believed, had grown up in the wilds, with only the outcast saddled with her at birth for company. Vala couldn't imagine that weight, of only knowing one person. Her mother would drive her mad within a fortnight without Varl to unpick the brambles between them, and Varl, for all that they are the same at their core, wouldn't be able to stand the sight of her at the end of it. 

When the end of the night comes, Vala is given the privilege of watching Bast realize what she already has - that this girl will likely beat them both. He fears it, fears her, and acts accordingly, lashing out the only way he knows how. It's a poorly thought out attack, hissed words clearly mean little to Aloy, and she smirks at him politely, all that coiled energy shifting to the surface. Her response is cutting, vicious in it's own way, each word clearly and calmly spoken. She's so sure of herself, and Bast senses it. That easy confidence. The sincerity in her voice. None of his false bravado could measure up.

Vala smiles when Aloy turns to her, and introduces herself. 

She's surprised by just how much she likes Aloy, how the awkward smile that Aloy sends her makes her seem more enticing rather than less. Her hair is even brighter here, in the light of the lodge, more like a flame.

Vala tries not to watch her as they get ready for bed, concentrating instead on how Bast is pouting two beds over. She smirks at him, a flash of teeth in the dark, and feels a sharp thrill of excitement run through her when he bares his teeth back before turning his back on her. She watches his back for awhile, mind running itself in short, tight circles. She thinks of her brother, her mother, disappointment and triumph, but above all, she thinks of Aloy, sitting the next bed over, her knees drawn up to her chest as the lodge dims around them. She is restless, her fingers clenching reflexively around her knee. Every time a noise sounds from outside the lodge, she winces, shoulders going up around her ears. 

"You've never slept in a Nora lodge before," she says at last, turning over to face Aloy. Her face twists with sympathy. "Not very private."

Aloy watches her for a moment before turning away, licking her lips, the grip on her knee slowly loosening before she responds, her face half in shadow.

"Comforts and distractions," she murmurs. "That's what I think."

“Not all comforts are bad,” Vala retaliates, trying not to feel stung. She thinks of the things that are a comfort to her - her brother, her spear, the sweet, red berries that can be harvested in the spring - and wonders if Aloy has had anything like it, or if her whole life has been the idea of the Proving, of being tribe.

If it has, it’s a waste. Aloy doesn’t see it yet, but she’s better than tribe. Possibly better than all of them.

Vala spends the next hour listening as one by one, the rest of them drop off into sleep. It's a slow, quiet hour, sleep evading her at every turn until she gives up on the idea of it, and slants her eyes open. Aloy is curled against the pallet, her breathing quiet and even, but she isn’t sleeping. Vala swallows, belly a tumble of nerves. She glances around the lodge, but it truly does seem as if everyone is asleep. She bites her lip, and slides out of her bed.

Aloy startles at the cold touch of Vala’s feet, hissing and jerking her legs up out of reach as Vala burrows under the sheets next to her. It’s a tight fit, the bed narrow, but if she tucks her chin against Aloy’s chest, it’ll be just fine.

“What are you doing?” Aloy demands in a shrill whisper. “I thought you were going to sleep.”

Vala exhales loudly and touches the tips of her fingers to Aloy’s firm belly. The bunched muscles shiver and jump against her fingers, gooseflesh rising, so Vala uncurls her knuckles and lays her entire palm across it.

“I was going to,” she whispers back, much more quietly. “But you’re keeping me awake.”

“I’m not doing anything, though.”

Her voice is quieter than it was, the panic receding as she takes her cue from Vala, but there's a hint of helpless confusion there. It humanizes her, just like that awkward smile, and some part of Vala goes sweet and warm all over. She snorts, her hand sliding further up Aloy’s shirt, mapping the edges of her ribs, and then higher still, until Aloy sucks in a gasp. With a smirk, Vala grazes her thumbnail across Aloy’s nipple, feeling it tighten against her hand.

“Have you-” she starts to ask, and is cut off when Aloy lets out a hoarse, choked laugh. A bitter whisper of a sound.

“With who?” Aloy asks waspishly, jerking her head back and forth. Her lips quirk up into a humorless smile. “No, there hasn’t been anyone. After all, who would have the motherless outcast?”

Vala grimaces, and thinks better of pressing the question even further. Aloy's lips are pursed, her face set into a scowl. There is steel there, bitterness yes, maybe even resentment, but no self-pity. She states it like a fact, a kind of venomous shrug. With a deep, quelling breath Vala lets her hand drift downwards, into the loose jerkin of Aloy’s pants.

“Well, I’m here,” she offers, her fingernails scraping gently through stiff curls. “If you’ll have me.”

Aloy turns to look at Vala properly, squinting in the dark, and Vala fights against the urge to break eye contact, to pull away. She isn’t used to being scrutinized this closely, for this long. She swallows, cupping Aloy, feeling the heat of her, and licks her lips, kissing Aloy’s thundering pulse.

“Not all comforts are bad,” she whispers, and Aloy shudders apart, the tension bleeding out of her frame as her thighs part for Vala’s hand.

Curiously, Vala dips one finger inside. Despite what Aloy may think, before tonight Vala has never touched a woman. Sex was a comfort that Vala seldom indulged in. She preferred the quiet, the grass, and the stars to the heat of a man panting away against her neck as he moved between her thighs. It was a fleeting pleasure that often ended in disappointment, her partner finishing with little care for her own ache, deep inside, unsated.

Vala preferred, when the urge struck, to take pleasure into her own hands.

Being with Aloy is very little like being with any of the men that she’s indulged with. Aloy is responsive to every little touch, red blooming across her skin, her head thrashing whenever Vala finds a sweet spot. Just watching is making the heat flare low in Vala’s belly, and she takes great pleasure in taking Aloy apart with just her hands, Vala's mouth wet on Aloy's throat. It doesn't last long, but then, Vala didn't think that it would. Aloy is a bow strung too tightly, just waiting to snap. Vala's just loosening her a bit.

When she comes, Aloy makes a helpless little gasping noise, her body going boneless and pliant. Vala shifts back a bit, just enough to watch Aloy pull herself together, her chest heaving for breath, entire body shivering. It takes a moment, but eventually her eyes blink open, ever so slightly dazed. She swallows, and then she’s reaching for Vala, whispering, “Show me how.”


	2. Avad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avad is careful not to think about Ersa when he touches Aloy. But not thinking about Ersa and trying not to think about her are two entirely different things.

Avad is careful not to think about Ersa when he touches Aloy. But not thinking about Ersa and trying not to think about her are two entirely different things. Despite the talk, he and Ersa had never… Well. They had never done _this_ , though it wasn’t for a lack of trying. They’d come close, several times over. It wasn't often that they were left to their own devices. Avad being who he was, guards accompanied him everywhere, and Ersa, despite having the power to dismiss them, had thought it better that she not. Temptation, she had sneered, as if it was all that needed said. 

She was right, of course.

Even when they were accompanied by someone, the heat lingered in the air between them, building into a raging inferno that crackled and roared beneath his ribs. He longed for her, his gaze catching and holding over the nape of her neck, the sharp jut of her narrow wrists. At times, he would even allow himself the gift of a touch. A simple touch between the sharp blades of her shoulders or a lingering brush of hands to show a job well done. The simplest touch, something that he would have done without thinking to any of his other guards. With her though, it was always to feel that shiver go through her - savoring that crackle of electricity.

He had thought that one day all that passion would come to a breaking point. The build of it between them would be too much and they would go at each other like animals - crazed with lust and unspoken words - their mind a slave to the will of their bodies.

They hadn’t had the chance. He regrets it.

Aloy _was_ like Ersa, not in looks, but in mannerisms, action, that same impossible force that drove them. He could see it now, as he hadn't then, and the shame of it rose within him, to think of how blind he’d been. He’d wanted, yes, because Aloy was beautiful and powerful and kings were known to covet such things. But he hadn't known. Even when she had told him, her lip twisted between her teeth, brow drawn tight with something between pity and offense, he had doubted. Surely not, he'd thought. 

He doesn’t know what changed her mind - but she had changed it, clearly, at least in this. She wouldn’t be his general, she had said, but for a night, she could be his.

Dizzy with the idea of it, he had accepted.

He'd like to think that he'd gone into this thing with no expectations. After all, he wasn't thinking about Ersa. But what would a king expect from a tryst? A bed chamber, hung with colorful silks, plumes of fragrant incense turning the air thick with smoke? His own bed, where he’d thought of Ersa so many times? Or had he thought to take her in the ferns?

What he hadn't been expecting was for Aloy to shove him back onto his throne and crawl atop him, powerful thighs clenching around his waist as she tested the grip on the throne’s headrest. His eyes went wide, staring out at his city, the hustle and bustle of the people just outside of the palace, the guards that prowled the stairs not fifteen feet below them. The knowledge that any of them could look up and see this, their king straddled and caged in against his own throne by a Nora savage.

He shudders, refocusing as she gets a hand between them, groping through his robes.

“Well?” she demands hotly, one eyebrow going up in slow, careful increments as he stares at her. Her lips purse with disapproval and there - a glimmer of frustration in her eyes. She cups him through his robes, squeezing twice to gauge his interest. Finding him interested indeed, her mouth twists a little more. “Are you planning on helping me out here?”

Without waiting for a response, she shoves her top down, the silk pooling just past her armpits, her breasts spilling free of the cloth. She takes his hands in hers and carefully places them on her breasts, her expression dubious when he still doesn't think to move. He blinks, and to prove that he’s listening, carefully drags a thumb across one pink, budding nipple, watching with interest as it pebbles and peaks at his touch. He wants to touch it again, he thinks, with his mouth. So he does.

“That’s more like it,” she says, breathless and approving.

Aloy isn't like Ersa in body. Ersa had been a warrior in her own right, her fingers thick with calluses, body firm, but that is where their similarities end. Aloy's own calluses are a different sort, made from bow and the wood of her spear rather than metal. Her body is hard, her muscles tight and compact under wind-chapped skin, but where Ersa was all brute strength, Aloy is a creature crafted more for speed, agility. Her hair is heavy and humid in his hands, tangled with knots and bits of grass, and when he pulls on it gently, she arches and cries out.

He’s impressed by how fast she manages to shove their clothing aside, her fingers quick and efficient, removing just enough, hips moving ceaselessly against his the whole while. His hands greedily map the shape of her, her wide hips and firm breasts, and he doesn’t think about Ersa when Aloy curses quietly in triumph as she finally gets his cock free of his robes and slides down onto it.

For a moment, Avad just breathes, his eyes clenched tight, his hand on her wrist holding her fast. She could break his hold, he’s sure of it, but instead she patiently lets him catch his breath, waiting for his grip to soften before she begins to move.

Avad has touched women before. He may be an unwedded king, but he is king, and young and attractive besides. He has had his share of suitors, taking to bed maids and nobles alike. He has felt the smoothness of their skin, the supple softness of them, their quiet cries pressed into his skin.

Never though, has he had a woman half so bold as Aloy. She takes what she wants, one hand braced against the headrest as she moves against him, taking him inside of herself again and again, her teeth digging into her lower lip in a futile effort to keep herself quiet. Avad knows the guards nearest them by name, and knows that none of them would think to breathe a word of this, that even now they are carefully avoiding each other's eyes.

His lips skim along the curve of her throat, finding the smoothness of a scar with his mouth and lingering over it, pressing kiss after kiss along the jagged expanse of it. He finds another, across the swell of her breasts, and kisses that one too.

At some point his hands tangle in her hair again and they are as one, shivering all over as the pleasure builds and builds, cresting at last as she stills against him, hips jerking once, twice, her body squeezing around him as she reaches completion.

Being with Ersa, he thinks, allowing himself the thought as his spent cock slips free of Aloy’s body, would never have been like that. It would have been different, even if they had fucked in the exact same way.

As he watches Aloy shove her top back into place, he thinks that may have been her point.


	3. Nil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s beautiful, deadly, her eyes gone sharp and flinty as she stares down each of her victims. Nil licks his lips, throat working when she turns to him afterwards, eyes soft again, now that the killing is done.
> 
> He wants to watch her do it again, and again, and again, for as long as she will let him.

Nil gives little thought to the young savage when he meets her on the road. At first glance, she appears to be ordinary. Small, with narrow hips and kind eyes. She would make an easy kill, he thinks, watching her. He would kill her fast, because there would be little challenge in it. An arrow to the eye or a knife thrust under the ribs and into her beautifully red, bleeding heart.

A second glance reveals what the first did not - that there is firm muscle under all that pale, freckled skin, calluses on her fingers, tough from years spent wielding bow and spear. She holds her chin high, proud, steel to her spine, and when she moves, there is grace there, like the big machine cats that prowl the wilds.

That second glance is enough to pique his curiosity, so he extends an invitation.

Nil watches her take the bandits down, giving her his full attention as she attacks - first from afar, bowstring whipping tight as her arrows each find their mark, spindly wooden shafts protruding from so many cracked open skulls. Then, when someone inevitably catches sight of her, he watches her kill them up close, blood spray spattered across her cheek and brow as she cuts them down with brutal efficiency.

She’s beautiful, deadly, her eyes gone sharp and flinty as she stares down each of her victims. Nil licks his lips, throat working when she turns to him afterwards, eyes soft again, now that the killing is done.

He wants to watch her do it again, and again, and again, for as long as she will let him.

Instead, he takes his leave of her, with a whisper of a promise.

The next bandit camp is decimated when Nil arrives, too late, blood still red on the ground as the new inhabitants toss her works of art into the ditches just past the fences, left to rot in the open air as carrion birds arrive to strip flesh from bone.

Disappointment is sharp, a knife at his breast, and for a moment, he lets the rage boil to the surface. Not at missing the kills themselves, but for missing her.

Nil lies in wait at the next camp for days, waiting for her to arrive. When she finally does, he watches her from a nearby hill, his mouth slack as she puts arrows in their eyes and knives through their breasts. She isn’t cruel - their deaths are quick and efficient, often cut down before they even realize that she is there - but she isn’t kind either. She leaves them where they’ve fallen, pulling shards and keepsakes from their pockets before moving on.

It’s exhilarating, and he watches until she moves on, until the rabble moves in to the void left in her wake. They, too, toss her work aside and for the span of a heartbeat, he considers taking them apart, cutting them down, if only to show them just why her work is sacred. Why it's so special. He makes himself move on. They’re commonplace, simple people with nowhere else to go. No challenge there.

At the next camp he arrives just as she is leaving. There is blood in her hair, a handprint smeared across her face. He catches her eye and salutes her with his bow, watching her struggle over whether or not she should join him. In the end, she offers him a polite smirk and leaves.

It is another three weeks before he finds her again, and this time, it is different. This time, he arrives with her, coming to stand just behind her shoulder. Ready, waiting, an eyebrow quirked in question as she looks at him thoughtfully. He can see the gears turning in her head, wondering if there’s a trap that he’s yet to spring on her, if it’s worth it to take him along.

She shrugs, bow drawn and already in motion.

Together they creep through the camp, leaving a path of destruction in their wake.

The last two bandits put up a fight, scoring a lucky hit along the girl’s upper thigh before she takes him down with a twist of her spear. He thinks about leaving the other for her as well, to see if she takes him down with her usual ruthless efficiency or if she’ll flounder in the wake of her injury. The bandit makes the decision for him - raising his bow while her back is still turned. Nil strikes him down. Quick. Efficient. For her sake.

When she turns to him, there is blood spattered across the left side of her face, her eye clenched shut lest it blind her. She squints at him, then at the bandit still gurgling at his feet. Nil gives her a short bow.

“Thanks,” she says, drily.

He eyes her, watching her limp carefully to a broken box and collapse onto it with a wince. He’s reminded of hobbled prey, and his nostrils flare wide, his heart thundering at the idea. Yes, he thinks, watching her wrap her wound, tugging the bandage tight with her teeth.

Yes, yes, yes.

He creeps closer, seeing her see him, track him. Even like this, her guard is up, wary of an attack, and it thrills him to see it, hunter to hunter. Like and like. He goes down on his knees before her, carefully prying the bandage from her fingers.

He finishes wrapping it himself, and after, when she’s looking at him with that fire still smoldering behind her eyes, he lets his hand linger on her thigh, sliding higher before he looks at her, brow cocked skyward in question.

She bares her bloodied teeth and there, yes. Perfect, he thinks as she draws him in for a hungry kiss. She is sharp in his hands, a perfectly crafted weapon, and though she may deny it all she likes, there is a part of her that likes this. The thrill of it, the adrenaline setting her veins ablaze, getting her blood running hot.

The skin under her clothes is soft, much softer than he would have expected, but the framework of her is all hard angles, solid muscle rippling beneath that softness. She moves with vicious grace, pinning him to the dirt and kissing him hard as his hands find their way beneath her clothes, teasing and pinching until she starts kissing him with teeth.

Nil rolls her then, getting a hand between her legs and watching her back arch up off the ground, rubbing down against the palm of his hand. He can feel the wetness there, even through the bulk of her heavy skins and furs. He presses with his thumb until she cries out, jerking sharply.

There’s a flush high across her cheekbones, her throat working as she swallows. The blood on her face is already dried, but the smell of it is still thick in the air. They’ve spilled so much of it here that the scent will linger for weeks, even once the bodies have been tossed out with the refuse.

Nil grins, tugging her pants down her thighs, until they’re tangled around her ankles. He kisses the place where her bandage has gone dark, the taste of metal heavy on his tongue, and she protests, loudly enough that he pulls back to kiss her quiet. She makes a furious noise against his lips and bites him hard in retaliation, but goes still with a quiet moan when he gets his fingers inside of her, testing her slickness. She writhes, pushing down against them, greedy for more, her eyelashes flickering open and closed, dazed.

He wants and wants - wants everything that she has to give him. For a moment, Nil sees his hands around her neck, his knife at her throat, but the image fades as she moans again, hips jumping, her fingers scrabbling against the ground.

She’s murmuring nonsense words at him, baring her teeth again, and he knows that if he got closer she would bite, vicious thing that she is.

He flips her onto her belly, curves his hand around a hip and drags her in against him, until her spine is arched and straining, her thighs shivering as he rubs the head of his cock against her.

“In,” she demands, white teeth flashing over her shoulder, and Nil smiles, obliging.

He sets a hard, fast pace, almost cruel, but she matches him thrust for thrust, muffling her cries into the bloodied ground. He fucks her like he’s never fucked anyone in his life, half-fight, half-fuck, and wonders as he stares at the curve of her bared shoulder.

Maybe it doesn’t have to be the end, he thinks, and again imagines his knife at her throat, but this time her spear is at his belly, her lips drawn back in a snarl. She could beat him, but he’s pretty sure that he could take her - that maybe even she’d let him fuck her again before they try to kill each other - making it all the sweeter.

He comes to that thought, his teeth clenching tight over the back of her neck, tasting sweat and blood and grit.

But first, he’ll have to find a suitable arena.


	4. Petra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Little spark,” Petra purrs, watching the Nora girl’s wide eyes, how her fingers linger over the machine, a hungry look on her face. Petra’s seen that look many times, been on the other side of that look even, with something so powerful in your arms that it leaves you itching for more, teeth buzzing, hands numb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, I suck. A lot. I've been trying to write the last three chapters for weeks now and it's just not happening, so I moved the chapter count down to five. We've got this extremely short Petra excerpt that I didn't hate, and Erend is gonna be the last. Maybe I'll replay the game in a couple months and feel this fic again, but better give you the rest of what I have rather than not post the rest at all.

“Little spark,” Petra purrs, watching the Nora girl’s wide eyes, how her fingers linger over the machine, a hungry look on her face. Petra’s seen that look many times, been on the other side of that look even, with something so powerful in your arms that it leaves you itching for more, teeth buzzing, hands numb.

She reaches, draws the girl in by her hips, until they’re pressed against one another, and kisses her sweetly on the lips. The girl responds with easy hunger, her lips greedy, and Petra sucks in a sharp breath when the girl sucks a mark into her skin.

She had a quip ready, something about getting something with power like that between her legs, but it’s gone now, lost to the lust that’s clouding her brain. The girl pushes her back against the table, getting one knee up on the table and making to crawl up on top of her, here in full view of everyone in this camp, and it isn’t as if Petra’s never thought about it, but-

“Mm,” she murmurs, breaking the kiss and coaxing the girl back a little. She grips her hand though, just to make sure she doesn’t go too far. “Not here, flame hair. I’ve got a bed a door away and it would be a shame to waste a chance to see you in it.”

The girl rolls her eyes. “Why didn’t you just say so,” she demands, beginning to impatiently drag Petra towards the door. On her way past, Kaeluf catches her eyes and makes a face that’s all eyebrows. She grimaces back at him, one hand on the girl’s waist and the other on the doorframe as they stumble over the threshold.

By morning, this will be the talk of the entire camp.

But, Petra supposes, falling back onto the bed with a heavy thump, the little Nora girl quick to follow after her with her hungry mouth and greedy hips. She’s willing to bet that this ride is gonna be worth it.


	5. Erend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Thought you were at the spire?” she asks in a creaking, sleepy voice. He takes a few more steps into the room, peering at her as she stretches on the bed. Her feet are bare, he notices, watching her toes flex against the sheets. It shouldn’t be strange, but the sight of her bared feet makes her seem more human than anything he's seen yet. The Nora up on the spire had talked about her like she was the second coming, something about an anointed, and Erend doesn’t know about all that, but he does know that Aloy’s something special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys. It's been a lovely journey and I hope you have enjoyed taking it with me.

The fire has burnt itself low by the time Erend quietly lets himself into Olin’s apartment. The guards on either side of the door had nodded to him in passing, but neither had blinked or turned to greet him.

The shadows have grown long, the light of the fire barely illuminating the form of Aloy on the bed. She is little more than a mound of blanket and fur and hair, and for a moment he hovers, undecided, until he sees the gleam of her eyes in the dark.

“Thought you were at the spire?” she asks in a creaking, sleepy voice. He takes a few more steps into the room, peering at her as she stretches on the bed. Her feet are bare, he notices, watching her toes flex against the sheets. It shouldn’t be strange, but the sight of her bared feet makes her seem more human than anything he's seen yet. The Nora up on the spire had talked about her like she was the second coming, something about an anointed, and Erend doesn’t know about all that, but he does know that Aloy’s something special.

To do what she’s done, to keep going in spite of everything and still have room for kindness? It’s more than he’d be able to do, and he knows it.

“I was,” he says, after the silence has grown into something uncomfortable. “I will be. I just.”

Erend doesn’t know what. Why he’s here. Aloy is the closest thing that he has to a friend. It hadn’t felt right sleeping in the shadow of the spire with the moonlight on his face. Not this night. Not alone.

She watches him, her eyes heavy-lidded. He hadn’t woken her, he doesn’t think, but she may have been near sleep before he’d come barging in, as if it was his right. As if he had any right to her, when all of those people out there - all of those that had come for her - had just as much of a claim to her time.

She hums, mussing her hair with one hand and yawning widely, patting the space beside her.

“Come sit,” she murmurs. “Looking up at you is giving me a headache.”

Erend sits carefully, wincing as the bed dips under his weight. When he looks back at her, she has flopped back down onto her pillow, hair fanned out around her. Her braids have gotten messy, too loose in some parts, chunks of hair spilling out. But then, when exactly would she have had a chance to fix it? Hell, how much sleep has she even been getting, running all over the place, taming wild machines and fixing everyone’s wrongs?

The Nora had it all wrong. She might have been special, but she was still human.

“I’m sorry,” he says abruptly. “I shouldn’t have bothered you. You were sleeping-”

“Erend,” Aloy interrupts quietly, propping herself up on her elbows. Her shirt is wrinkled, her necklace slung the wrong way around her neck. “It’s okay. I wasn’t sleeping.”

“But you-” he starts, waving his hand around to indicate the bed, the fire, her general state of being. She just looks at him, so he stops, shoulders slumping. “Sorry,” he says again.

She smiles at him, wrinkled and exhausted, but _there_.

“I did want to thank you,” he tells her apologetically. “You’ve probably had a lot of people doing that lately, but I never really got around to it, after Ersa.”

He goes quiet, watching the moonlight creep up over the blankets until it touches the tip of her toe. He's just beginning to realize that he doesn’t actually know what to say. She knows what she is. What she’s done, for him - for all of them. There’s nothing he could tell her that she doesn’t already know.

There’s a soft, cool touch against his cheek, slender fingers guiding him to look at her. She's rumpled all over and there are fresh, purpling bruises under her eyes. Just looking at her he can tell that she's tired, but he’s still here babbling at her.

“Hey,” she murmurs, cupping his face in one gentle hand, her smile growing when he leans into her touch. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Erend doesn’t say that he’s scared, even though it’s true.

Aloy doesn’t say that she’s scared, even though it’s just as likely to be true.

They don’t say anything, but after a moment, she tugs him down to meet her, touching her lips to his. It’s a sweet kiss, dry and chaste, more for comfort than heat or sex. He’s never been kissed like this, not since he was a boy, kissing for the sake of kissing.

He wavers, uncertain, his hands on the bed because he’s not sure where he’s allowed to touch. And then, like melting, something changes: her body going softer, until she’s slumped against him. With a quiet little rumble of pleasure, she deepens the kiss, her fingers tangling in his hair and bringing him even closer. And there - there’s that spark of heat, curling down his spine and slowly sending signals to his wakening cock.

She sighs into his mouth when he brings a hand up to cradle her waist, and he takes that to be a good sign, bearing her back down to the bed, kissing reverently down her neck and across her chin and shoulders, the slope of her nose and cheek until she snorts with laughter.

“Erend,” she chides, half gasping as he kisses his way between her breasts, nuzzling where her shirt meets skin. He hooks two fingers around the hem of it, and looks at her in question, easing it up and over her head when she nods.

Her breasts are gorgeous, perfect little handfuls, her nipples a rosy pink that darken to a dusky hue when he sucks on them, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. She gasps, cheeks red, and he kisses lower, across the warm, lightly-furred slope of her belly and across the jut of her hips. He licks his way across a scar he finds, lingering over the pale, ropey knot of it, before he presses his kisses even lower, to where the fabric of her trousers is going dark and damp between her legs. He sucks at the fabric slowly, tongue pressing down teasingly against the heat of her.

“Erend,” she says again, more urgently. He chuckles and gives the cloth one last, slow suck before guiding her pants down her hips and thighs, until she’s kicking them off of her ankles and wrapping her bare legs around his waist.   
  
She’s coming to life in his hands, her body waking up in slow increments as she cants her hips up against his thigh, pressing herself there and rubbing just so. She opens her eyes and looks at him, her eyes full of sleepy heat, and he swallows, jerking his clothes off as quickly as he can.

He kisses her again, pressing their naked skin together and moaning at how she immediately hitches her thighs around his hips. The head of his cock nudges at her entrance, just enough to get the tip of it wet, and they shudder together, relishing in the feel of it. The fire is embers in the fireplace and the moonlight is dappled over both of them now, and she kisses him like he’s never been kissed before when he eases into her - a long, smooth slide that leaves them both gasping in its wake.

It’s a long moment before he can move, savoring the feel of her around him, against him. He takes a deep breath and lets their lips drag together, slow, slow, slow, easing out of the warmth of her body before rocking inside again. She shivers, a huff of something like a laugh punching out of her, and tightens her grip on him, so he does it again.

He’s never fucked anyone like this either, he thinks, her arms around his neck, his face buried in her hair. It feels more, the slow drag of their hips together a different kind of pleasure altogether. He can feel it when she’s getting close, her cries growing louder, her thighs quivering, heels digging into his back, and then she’s there, and Erend is helpless to the clutch of her body, coming with his mouth open against her neck.

He kisses her again with aching tenderness as he softens inside of her, and they lay like that for a long while, kissing and touching and breathing in the quiet, this tender little place they’ve made for themselves before the storm.

It’s difficult to force himself away from her, but he has to, looking away from her bruised lips and her hazy green eyes, her whole body flushed with sex.

“Time to go?” she asks, more than half asleep already.

He nods, climbing from the bed and making to gather his clothes. He stoops to kiss her on the brow before he leaves, watching the way her forehead crinkles, her lips pursing.

“You’re going to survive this fight,” he tells her, watching her face in the shadow. He feels a helpless swell of something just under his breastbone, affection grown too big for his body, until it’s sure to burst from him.

He looks at her for a moment longer, and then he turns to leave.

There will be time for more later.

 


End file.
